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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24692560">Absolutely Ridiculous</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335'>mssrj_335</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, BAMF Finn (Star Wars), BAMF Poe Dameron, Banter, Bar Shootout, Because those are underrated and so damn hot, Bickering, Established Relationship, Finnpoe - Freeform, Force-Sensitive Finn (Star Wars), M/M, Maybe a little OOC? Nah, Not Canon Compliant, POV Finn, Poe's a Battle Flirt, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Stormpilot, Thirsty Finn (Star Wars), Undercover Missions, if you ask me anyway, sexy outfits, shoulder holsters, we know this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:34:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,748</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24692560</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost a year after the Battle of Crait, Finn and Poe are on their first undercover mission together. Nevermind that their outfits are ridiculous, Poe's mouth is even worse. If Finn can just keep his eyes on the mission, maybe he won't be looking at Poe's ass.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Poe Dameron/Finn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Absolutely Ridiculous</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>exactly what’s on the tin, just a ridiculous little story  have fun bois, i did lol</p><p>many thanks to gmariam for spawning this idea and for the feedback, you're the best!!</p><p>for ref, here's the jackets<br/>https://hips.hearstapps.com/hmg-prod.s3.amazonaws.com/images/gettyimages-1190234202.jpg?resize=768:*<br/>https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--bQiOSgq4mk/V5uKJ1K5ydI/AAAAAAAAO_Y/LywRZh2v8sg7Ewo6dpq9gqF-CnpXPtCMgCLcB/s1600/aaf2cde204bccf50689845979d61d4fe.jpg</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This is a bad idea.”</p><p> </p><p>“Pipe down,” Poe says out of the corner of his mouth. “Just act natural.”</p><p> </p><p>“What the kriff is natural supposed to look like here?” Finn hisses back. “Is that leather jacket supposed to impress somebody?”</p><p> </p><p>Poe rolls his eyes, self-consciously fingering said jacket. “The goal is to look as little like the good guys as possible, right?” Their driver pulls the run-down speeder into a slot on the street and Poe pushes a lock of hair out of his face. “That includes dressing the part. I’ve done this before, just follow my lead.”</p><p> </p><p>Finn rolls his eyes but resists making another comment because Poe is slipping out of the speeder, white shirt parting lower down his throat, looking like his black pants might bust a seam over the curve of his ass. <em>Shit</em>. Poe glances back and finds him staring. <em>Double shit</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Seems to be impressing you, at least,” Poe grins.</p><p> </p><p>Finn scowls at the expression. Poe tips his head, looking Finn up and down in a way that would <em>definitely</em> get him pinned to any flat surface if they were on base. As it is, Finn just stuffs his hands in his pockets and tries to focus on the task at hand. Maybe if he does that, he won’t watch Poe’s ass. Literally, not in the metaphorical I’ve-got-your-back kind of way. Which he will absolutely do, even if Poe is distracting as all hell.</p><p> </p><p>“Got you hot under the collar, too?” Poe teases, picking up on his scattered thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>Poe’s fingers pinch the collar of Finn’s shirt, pull and pop the tight fabric against his neck. Finn swallows. He’s pretty sure his brain short circuits, is absolutely sure it breaks what little focus he had, but he snorts.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s the worst pun you’ve ever made,” Finn grouses, which only serves to widen Poe’s smile. “I don’t know what about missions makes you ridiculous and I can’t decide if I love it or hate it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve heard worse.” Poe winks. “Don’t lie, you like it.”</p><p> </p><p>Finn groans.</p><p> </p><p>This time, Poe rolls his eyes but he squeezes Finn’s arm reassuringly. “C’mon, can we just do this? It’ll be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>Honestly, if this wasn’t such a <em>stupid</em> idea, Finn’s pretty sure he’d be drooling over the getup. Finn just shakes his head, frees his hands, and tries to get a grip. They <em>are</em> working, undercover and all. Apparently, the key to not looking like the good guys is dressing as expensively as possible. His own outfit could have been understated except that the snug black turtleneck and soft leather boots were offset by the most ostentatious thing ever to sit on his shoulders. It’s some tan and pink plaid overcoat, black stripes adorning the sides, just dusting his shins and he almost hates how much he likes it. All the rage for Coruscant, even more so for the club Poe’s leading him into.</p><p> </p><p>Blue and pink lights dance, mix purple over bodies gyrating on the floor. It’s a kriffing mess in here, only two exits visible and little to no cover in the open design. <em>Everyone</em> is suspicious, swaying too close, looking them up and down with <em>no</em> reserve. But, from the looks of it, he has to worry more about a contact high than pulling the blasters strapped tight to his sides. Lithe bodies and glazed, lascivious eyes drag over him, around him. He fights the urge to stiffen up, instead shoves his hands back in his coat pockets and follows Poe deeper into the club. The scent of spice and alcohol and sweat seeps into his nose as Poe stops at the bar. It’s not great. The music’s too loud, pulsing and deep, he can’t hear what Poe orders. But in a flash Poe’s pushing a neon-red cherry-smelling drink into his hand, leading him back to an unoccupied part of the wall.</p><p> </p><p>Only when they’re far from the dance floor does Poe take a sip and turn toward him, bending a leg and resting one boot on the wall. Light catches on the metal in his jacket, the silver in the stubble peppering his jaw. He’s the picture of practiced, elegant nonchalance and it honestly takes Finn off-guard a bit. Poe’s eyes slide to him, more mischievous than he’d like. Then he notices how slack his jaw his and clacks it shut as Poe leans into him.</p><p> </p><p>“You see the alcove at the back?” Poe’s lips brush the shell of his ear and Finn shivers. He’s doing it on purpose, damn him. “Our contact will there in about 20 minutes. We go in, make the trade, and get out.”</p><p> </p><p>Finn glances surreptitiously to Poe’s hips where the datastick is tucked safely away in a pocket, but gets distracted by the silhouette of Poe’s dick in the tight fabric. He clears his throat and takes a drink. “You think they’re good for it?” Kriff, he is <em>definitely</em> going to be peeling Poe out of those later.</p><p> </p><p>“Nunb seems to think so.” Finn can feel the grin on Poe’s face. <em>Caught</em>. “So does Leia. Arms dealers are pretty straight-forward, usually. They just want credits or a trade. And seeing as how this didn’t cost us any actual credits, I’d say we’re in good shape.”</p><p> </p><p>Finn snorts but takes another sip of his drink. The cherry flavor blooms into something more complex on the back of his tongue as he scans the bar. He tries to mimic Poe’s easy posture and relax. <em>It’ll be easy</em>, he reminds himself. <em>In and out</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not often they get a deal this sweet. A whole garrison’s worth of weapons for information and access to an old Rebellion safe house. Nien Nunb provided some background on the contact before they left. Some nephew of an old Sullustan senator, Sian Tevv. Like his uncle, Vytz Tevv isn’t exactly out and proud about supporting the Resistance, but it’s clear he wants to get away from First Order surveillance. Who wouldn’t? Privately, he thinks Vytz Tevv would be able to buy his way out of any trouble. But, maybe it’s more a case of practicality? This particular safe house is on Zastiga, where traders still frequent and sales can be made. Maybe Tevv stands to gain more than he would lose in the agreement. </p><p> </p><p>Miracle of all miracles, their contact arrives right on time. A deep grey Sullustan side-eyes his way into the club, flanked on each side by Iridonian bodyguards. Oh, he <em>must </em>have money if he can afford that kind of muscle. The trio slip into the VIP recess. Poe waits a few minutes before pushing himself off the wall. Finn follows, still wary of the crowd, but the usual feeling of <em>bad</em> in his gut about these sort of things is surprisingly absent.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The whole exchange takes about fifteen minutes. Tevv isn’t one for pleasantries and his bodyguards even less so. Poe hands over the datastick and Tevv relinquishes a keyed fob and set of codes. The former for the speeder parked around the back of the club, the latter for the weapons cache stowed in the covered mag sled pulled behind.</p><p> </p><p>“Our friends seems to think you’re trustworthy,” Poe says easily. “There’s nothin’ in that sled that’s gonna prove otherwise, right? I mean, we <em>do</em> know where to find you, if there’s any problem.”</p><p> </p><p>Tevv scoffs, or at least the Sullustan equivalent, and the bodyguards reach for their weapons. Poe smiles, spreads his hands in an amicable show even as Finn crosses his. His blasters are there, just a twitch away under his coat. He’s quick. Not sure he’s as quick as this pair, though. Tevv waves his hand, deigns to confirm yes, everything is in order. Then, he’s out the door, scowling twosome following close behind. Only when Finn sees them slither out, backs illuminated with the pulsing club lights, do his hands fall from his concealed blasters.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe that worked,” he mutters.</p><p> </p><p>Poe just smiles, canting a cocky eyebrow as he slides by. “Told you it’d be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“And how often has that been true?”</p><p> </p><p>Poe just shrugs and saunters ahead of him back to the bar. If Finn hangs back a step or two to watch, that’s his own business. Apparently, buying another round of drinks is standard procedure, to be a little less suspicious about the whole thing. But seeing as how Tevv’s crew operated with more of a smash and grab vibe, Finn privately thinks Poe might just be milking it for fun. It’s not really very often they get a successful mission. Much less have a good time. In fact, now that he thinks about it, he’s <em>never</em> done this and Poe does seem to be enjoying himself. It would be fun if that little <em>bad </em>niggling didn’t feel like it was growing. Poe hands him another drink, this one a pale blue, and they settle on the seats at the far end of the bar, tucked almost into their own private corner.</p><p> </p><p>“You think you might do this again?” Poe leans in and asks before he takes a drink. His lips purse around the taste and Finn tries not to get distracted. “Undercover work?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not sure I’m spy material.”</p><p> </p><p>“You certainly look the part,” Poe smirks, plucking at his ostentatious overcoat.</p><p> </p><p>“If looking the part means looking suspicious as hell, then yeah, I guess I do.”</p><p> </p><p>“You worry too much.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sometimes I don’t think you worry enough.” Finn takes another drink as Poe rolls his eyes. “There’s no way we haven’t been made. Tevv was <em>not </em>subtle. Who’s to say he didn’t give us up, anyway?”</p><p> </p><p>Poe scoffs. “C’mon, we’re not <em>that</em> recognizable.”</p><p> </p><p>“And those pinup recruitment posters Pava made up just disappeared, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>Poe drops his head and shakes it, a rueful smile cracking his face. “You’re never gonna let me live those down, are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not until I get one,” Finn says absently, something at the front catching his eye. A ripple of commotion radiates through the crowd just as he nips another sip and he almost chokes.</p><p> </p><p><em>Shit</em>. There's the welcoming committee he's been waiting on.</p><p> </p><p>“I <em>told </em>you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh great,” Poe groans.</p><p> </p><p>“Shit<em>.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>First Order troops are filing into the bar, weapons drawn. Not everyone has noticed yet, the music’s still too loud and people still too stoned. Well. Guess they’re getting out the hard way. Finn slides off his bar seat and steps fluidly between Poe’s spread knees, a plan already in motion. He leans in, coat hiding part of Poe’s body, mouth right by his ear, sliding his hands under the leather of Poe's jacket. On the outside, it might look like he’s getting frisky but the only thing he’s grabbing for right now is the blaster pistol tucked into the back of Poe’s pants. His jacket was too tailored for the shoulder holsters Finn’s hiding under his coat and it’s the only place Poe could stash a weapon in the clean lines of his outfit.</p><p> </p><p>“Play along, hide your face,” he murmurs. “Think you can get my blasters out without being caught?”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that what I’m supposed to be getting out right now?”</p><p> </p><p>He feels Poe’s hands wander before they settle on his pistols—the innuendo is killing him. Finn pinches Poe’s back, making him slide forward on his seat, and focuses very <em>very </em>hard on projecting invisibility. “Focus, hotshot. You can have my attention when we get out of here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that a promise?” Poe murmurs, face half-buried in Finn’s neck but body taut and coiled tight.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a threat.” Finn nips Poe’s ear, in part to keep up the game. And maybe because he deserves it. “Don’t be suspicious.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s the name of the game, right?” Finn feels Poe’s grin more than he sees it. “Don’t be suspicious?”</p><p> </p><p>“And don’t be an ass.”</p><p> </p><p>He fits his hand over the pistol’s grip, turning his head back toward the front door minutely. There’s a squad’s worth of troopers, two pairs of two making their way through the bodies on the dance floor and one pair left at the front door. Some partiers seem scared, others oblivious, and Finn feels that bad feeling ratchet tighter in his gut. Out of the corner of his eye, Finn spots a pair of troopers passing behind them. They scan the crowd—<em>don’t look, don’t look, don’t</em>—and skip them over.</p><p> </p><p>Stars, that kriffing <em>worked</em>?</p><p> </p><p>“Get ready,” Poe murmurs.</p><p> </p><p>Ah.</p><p> </p><p>No, then. Poe’s facing the crowd, the troopers must be circling back.</p><p> </p><p>“Count of three, I need you to drop.”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s easier ways to get me on my knees, you know,” Finn hisses.</p><p> </p><p>“Promises, promises,” Poe chides, tightening his grip on Finn's guns.</p><p> </p><p>A trooper pops up behind him and barks, “You there! Let’s see your identification.”</p><p> </p><p>Finn pulls back just a bit but doesn’t turn around. He feels Poe’s fingers tap against his sides one, two—</p><p> </p><p>“Sure,” Poe drawls, “let me just—”</p><p> </p><p><em>Three</em>!</p><p> </p><p>Poe yanks the pistols from Finn’s holsters as he drops. He fires twice, right then left as Finn pivots, Poe’s blaster tight in his hand. The troopers closest to them fall smoking and the club erupts in chaos. The partiers may be stoned but that doesn’t mean they’re not freaking out. Half of them herd to the front, half to the back, both exits effectively blocked and the remaining First Order troopers start firing in their direction.</p><p> </p><p>“Over!” Finn shouts, and he doesn’t have to say any more. He vaults over the bar, Poe close behind. The bartender has vanished, the liquor bottles busting overhead under blaster bolts.</p><p> </p><p>“What now?” Poe shouts.</p><p> </p><p>“Working on it!”</p><p> </p><p>The blaster fire seems to be getting closer; better think fast.</p><p> </p><p>Finn sticks his pistol just above the bar, returning fire. “Find an igniter!”</p><p> </p><p>There’s got to be one, this club’s fancy enough to serve those flaming drinks. Poe’s scrambling through the drawers as Finn lights on some high proof booze. Nah, won’t work. He passes them over for the high-powered cleaning products under the bar and cloth towels. Poe tosses him the igniter, taking position to returning fire. A quick mix, a firm rip, and a couple of twists and it’s now or never.</p><p> </p><p>“Cover me!” Finn shouts.</p><p> </p><p>He lights one towel he's shoved into a bottle, Poe braces on one knee. Finn pops up; two troopers coming straight, two from the side. He tosses one bottle as hard as he can, the cleaners shatter at the troopers feet and ignite. Then the next. The fire isn’t strong enough to burn through their armor but they’re distracted, choking on the fumes—Poe picks off two, Finn gets the last.</p><p> </p><p>The club’s empty, lights still spiraling, music pounding. Smoke curls from the troopers’ ruined armor and Finn huffs, blaster trained unwavering on the door. </p><p> </p><p>Well.  That's that.</p><p> </p><p>“Not gonna lie, that kind of turned me on,” Poe pants from his position on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“Dameron, your mouth—”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t finish, holding his hand out to yank Poe to his feet.</p><p> </p><p>“You like my mouth,” Poe smirks, nonchalantly brushing glass and debris from Finn’s expensive coat. “Told you it’d work out fine.”</p><p> </p><p>Finn hears sirens in the distance, coming up quick, and he bares his teeth in a semi-sort-of-menacing smile.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re lucky I like your mouth, you ass,” he groans, shoving a finger in Poe’s face to make his point. “You still got the fob?”</p><p> </p><p>Poe pats down his pockets, a familiar shit-eating grin firmly in place, but he nods.</p><p> </p><p>“Then let’s get the hell outta here before we have to do this all again.”</p><p> </p><p>Poe darts in, surprising him with an absolutely filthy kiss before he declares, “I’m drivin’,” and slides out over the ruined bar.</p><p> </p><p>Finn groans, not sure if he should lose his temper or if Poe should lose his clothes.</p><p> </p><p>Finn shakes his head. “He’s ridiculous.” It’s more to himself than anyone else. “Absolutely ridiculous. You’re gonna be the death of me!” he shouts at Poe’s retreating back.</p><p> </p><p>“Only a little death, sweetheart. You did promise, after all.”</p><p> </p><p>But Poe’s waiting for him at the back door, grinning and cutting a dark line through the carnage and Finn feels his mouth dry out at the sight. He just hopes Leia doesn’t expect a deposit back on these clothes; Poe’s are definitely not making it out in one piece after that little comment. Little death, ha. If Finn has his way, there’s more than one in store when they get back to base. Briefing be damned.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if you haven't heard it before, a "little death" is an orgasm euphemism or so I’m told babes (but i'm sure you have bc you're all smart as hell and i mean that sincerely :D)</p><p>if there's any technical details that are totally wrong, please forgive me. self-edited and totally self-indulgent too</p><p>lmk what you think! i love feedback</p></blockquote></div></div>
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